


Radiance

by powerless_passerby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Post S3, Unrequited Love, of course my wincest debut had to hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24673951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/powerless_passerby/pseuds/powerless_passerby
Summary: “Dean,” Sam repeats. “I…I was going to take this to my grave. I was. Promise. But…I think you should know it now.”ORSam has to bury Dean after his soul is sent to Hell, and he has an overdue confession to get off his chest.
Relationships: Bobby Singer & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 41





	Radiance

When they get him buried, all there is to signify he’s there is a rough wooden cross.

It takes Sam and Bobby nearly all day. By the time the sun is setting, Dean is six feet under and Sam feels numb. Hollow. A whole year of fighting tooth and nail against exactly this and all he has to show for it is his brother in a box.

Bobby’s talking. He wants them to leave. Wants Sam to go with him. Get something to eat. Get sleep.

Sam doesn’t go. He doesn’t say anything—hasn’t said a word all day—just refuses to budge from his spot standing vigil on the edge of Dean’s grave.

The Impala is here. Bobby’s truck fades away, the thunderous engine giving way to silence, and Sam is alone.

Just him, his dead brother, and the vibrant sunset sky.

Sam stands there for a long, long time. Just stares at that cross and chews at his lip until it is raggedy and bleeding.

At some point he begins to weep. The quiet weeping turns to sobbing as the sky darkens cobalt, and Sam’s knees give.

He collapses into the freshly-turned dirt. Dean would have been there to catch him if things were different.

“Dean,” Sam whispers. His throat seizes. It takes him too long to realize he’s holding his breath, waiting for the answer of his own name.

It never comes. Sam sobs into his brother’s grave and there is never a soothing voice in his ear or a large hand on his shoulder.

If Sam keeps his eyes shut tight enough, he can pretend that Dean is in front of him. Looking at him with that look of fondness and concern and just a hint of sadness, too. He never did like to see Sam cry.

“Dean,” Sam repeats. “I…I was going to take this to my grave. I was. Promise. But…I think you should know it now.”

The responding silence is deafening. Sam aches to hear Dean’s voice so hard even his bones quake with it.

“I love you,” Sam whispers. “I know…you love me too. I know. But I love you _different_ , De.”

“I didn’t know when I was little. We were…you were just a brother to me, then. But… _god_ , I went off to Stanford and I missed you. So much. And I didn’t realize why I missed you so bad for a long time. I thought I just missed you because you were my brother, you know?”

Sam knows this would be the part where Dean would offer some smartass comment. Some macho bullshit about chick-flick moments. But his eyes would be soft and he’d be smiling sideways at Sam, letting him ramble on about all of his _feelings_ and _emotions_ and things that Dean generally didn’t want to deal with at all.

But Dean’s grave is silent. Wind whistles through the trees, and the woods seem to whisper, “ _Dead, dead, dead_.”

Sam nearly chokes on a sob. “And then with Jess…sometimes I’d catch myself pretending she was you. I’d pretend that I was holding you instead of her, or her moans were yours, or you were the one I was coming home to. And I knew. God, I knew. I knew it was wrong.”

He falls silent for a long moment. His breathing is too ragged to continue speaking. In an effort to avoid looking at the grave, Sam turns his head only to stare at Baby, shining in the moonlight and sitting pretty like Dean always wanted her to.

Sam’s chest hurts so bad at that he presses both hands to it, pushing against the almost intolerable pain. Gasping, he turns to stare at the tree line. The field. The sky. Anything other than the damn cross or the damn car.

“And then that night,” Sam breathes. “That damn night that you showed up…Dean, you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. And I knew before you even opened your mouth that I’d say yes to whatever you wanted.”

He pulls in a shuddering breath. “And then Jess, and we left, and I knew I couldn’t tell you, but…everything you did was intoxicating, Dean. The sound of your voice, the look on your face when you drove the car, it didn’t matter. No matter what you did, it made me fall just a little bit deeper.”

The trees creak. The moonlight is cradling the cross in an ethereal glow.

“It was always like staring at the sun,” Sam breathes. “You were so bright and so beautiful. You were radiant, Dean Winchester, and I was in love with you.”

A wild animal keens from somewhere within the trees.

“I love you, Dean,” Sam repeats. “And I’m gonna find a way to get you out. I promise. I…I can’t do this without you. If I can, I don’t want to.”

Sam runs out of words, then. Anything he tries to say gets tangled in his throat and leaves his mouth as a sob.

He sits there for a long, long time. His phone rings. And rings. And rings. Bobby is looking for him.

Sam doesn’t answer. He sits with his brother, one last time, until his body is numb from the chill of the night.

Sam staggers to the Impala. He fumbles with the door handle, climbs in, yanks the door shut behind him, and pulls Dean’s blood-stained leather jacket into the backseat with him.

Sam curls onto that backseat the same as he’s done a million times. Dean’s jacket serves as half-pillow and half-blanket.

It still smells just like Dean. If Sam shuts his eyes tight enough, he can almost pretend that they’re rumbling along some random highway, Dean humming along to Zeppelin and tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel, refraining from singing so that Sam can sleep undisturbed.

What Sam really pictures is this: his brother, in the backseat with him, curled around him. The jacket would serve as a warm weight over them both.

Sam Winchester buried his brother today. But Dean Winchester will never truly die as long as Sam is around.


End file.
